“He’ll be hosting a live game show here in LA three nights a week.”
“Are you fucking kidding me? They think I’m shooting my movie in LA instead of New York because he’s hosting Family Feud?”
“It’s not. It’s—”
“I don’t give a damn what it is.” I stand and pace from my desk to the windows overlooking the city. “You outta your damn mind, Evan. His game show won’t dictate our locations.”
“Not all of them and not all the time. We’re still forming the location list, but I think it could work.”
“How? How could it work?”
“We could use Galaxy’s back lots. Most of the scenes will be interior and we can grab pick-up shots in New York. Also keep in mind a lot of those buildings from Harlem in the thirties are either demolished or look really different. We’d have to create our own with models and other tricks anyway. We have to recreate the Savoy Ballroom, a massive undertaking. A back lot is ideal for that. That’s not to say no shots in New York. Just from October to January, we need to—”
“That’s ninety percent of the shooting schedule. Shit, Evan. We don’t need their money that bad. Not to ruin my movie.”
“First of all, we do need the money. This is a big project with a huge price tag. Second of all, I actually think back lots could give us that old Hollywood vibe. Might be perfect for this period piece.”
That does give me pause. I prop on the edge of the desk and fold my arms over my chest, daring Evan to convince me. “Go on.”
“You said you want to shoot on film, right?”
“Some, yeah, sixteen millimeter for certain sequences. I know it’s expensive, but I’m not compromising on that, Evan. It’s bad enough they want to cast a Mouseketeer.”
“No, they think film is genius, but it gives even more credence to using old Hollywood back lots. Layering that nostalgia in on every level.”
I hate that it’s starting to make sense.
Evan’s slow smile tells me he knows it. “Can I tell them Trey’s in?”
“Not until I see his tape. He’s not getting in without an audition.”
“Well Neevah Saint practically did.”
“Neevah did a damn Broadway show and killed her audition with Mallory.”
“I’ll send you his tape. Mal’s working with his agent. The team’s coming together. We got Verity on the script. Monk’s in for the score. Neevah’s in for Dessi. Costumes will be a huge part of this. We need to start looking at costume designers.”
“Yeah?” I turn back to the storyboard, only half listening now. “Alright, whatever.”
“Lawson Stone has a suggestion.”
Something in Evan’s voice makes me study him over my shoulder suspiciously. “Don’t tell me. His second cousin is a seamstress.”
“Even better.” Evan fights a smirk unsuccessfully. “His wife.”
Now that I wasn’t expecting. “Linh? His wife we met? Whose dad is the sculptor?”
“Yeah, pretty sure he’s only got the one wife.”
“And if he’s willing to get rid of her, you’d be in line.”
“Me? The last thing I want is somebody’s wife.”
“But you think she’s pretty,” I tease.
“I think she’s gorgeous and sexy as hell, but she’s married to our studio exec. There’s plenty of pussy in the sea.”
“Nice with the mixed metaphor. You seen her stuff yet?”
“Yeah, man. She’s terrific, actually. She’s worked on several period pieces but under someone else’s banner. Now starting to branch out on her own.”
“Send it over. I’ll take a look.”
“You mentioned needing to see the chemistry between the two actors,” Evan says. “What do you think about flying Neevah out to do a screen test with Trey?”
This is a sound suggestion, but the thought of seeing Neevah again gives me pause and also, unfortunately, a dangerous thrill of anticipation.
Be smart.
Be cautious.
“Canon?” Evan asks, one brow lifted. “Think we should bring Neevah in for Trey’s screen test?”
“Sorry, dude. My mind is all over the place today. We can ask her, sure.”
“Okay, well since you’ve been dealing with her and she and I haven’t actually met yet, you want to do the honors?”
“Yeah. I will.”
“Cool.” Evan heads for the door. “I’ll coordinate with Trey’s agent.”
Once he’s gone, I consider the phone on my desk. I know I need to make this call, but I’m bracing myself for that husky-sweet voice of hers, and how the sound of it hits me like a shot of whiskey. And I need a clear head.
“You don’t have time for this shit,” I mutter, grabbing the phone and dialing. “It’s just a call.”
She picks up on the second ring.
“Canon?” she